Dream
by Theodoras-Faith
Summary: Raven is stuck in hell for her summer - a very small hell with one other occupant. So she finds a way to relieve the stress. possible oneshot, may continue if people like it. And I'll give you the Disclaimer now. I don't own the HP-verse, just Raven.
1. Chapter 1

Dream

Raven looked out the small window in her closet-turned-room. Through the weather-worn iron bars she saw fluffy gray clouds that were currently spitting out gumball-sized bits of hail. She sighed and looked around at the matching gray walls, the walls which seemed to grow closer to her cot by the hour. In truth, there was barely room in the closet-sized space to fit a cot, let alone her body, but her long-term confinement was wearing on her. She had to get out. It just wasn't possible.

_At least… not physically,_ she considered. Grabbing that thought and running with it, she carefully lay down on the cot and closed her eyes. _I want to be anywhere but here… maybe… Hogwarts. Yes… I'd like to be there. I'd be in the Common room with everyone else bustling around me… I can see their faces. Oh everyone looks so serious… I almost forgot about the war. There's Marcia. She's arguing with Thom again, poor thing. Someone needs to tell her that her braids aren't straight, but I suppose I can do that later. It's almost time for breakfast._

Raven saw herself walking down the bright halls of Hogwarts, descending the moving staircases with a year's worth of ease and conversing with some of the portraits as she reveled in the history surrounding her. The darkening sky and the change of hail to rain were lost on her mind.

_Hmmm what to eat today… I think I'll have some of the eggs; the elves always make them just right. And some bacon and toast… maybe a sandwich? Why not? …….. There. A good breakfast to start off a new day. Now to tell Marcia about her braids… and that Thom is cheating on her again. I wonder which I should do first. Oh well she's off in the library, I have plenty of time to think about it before I get there._

_Ah, there's our favorite Knight. He's quizzing poor little Longbottom. He's not as bad as I hear tell his dad was, but he's not our best bet yet. It's too bad that his dad died in the first war. Now Old Tom's son is running for mayor of Evil-ville. I say let him have it. We're safe here in Hogwarts. Why let Tom II run our lives here?_

_Marcia's deep in another book. This one is about… black magic? I guess it's some Muggle thing. I'll leave her be – I wanted to find that old copy of the history book for class. If I'm lucky I'll get enough extra points for that and Professor Binns will leave me alone._

She stayed in her fantasy world for an hour or so, uninterrupted by the world around her until her father came home. He slammed the front door open hard enough that she could hear it from across the house. His steps as he crossed the creaky wooden floor were echoed by the slam of the industrial-strength plastic door hit the door jamb and stuck. She twitched, but went back to dreaming as the unsteady footsteps neared her space.

_I can't help but jump as someone has the gall to slam the library door. Really, are they trying to get detention? Well if they were, they succeeded. Ms. Black seems about ready to rip someone's head off already. I always did wonder what it would look like, to see someone's brains dripping out of their ears._

_Darn… guess I won't get that chance. Nymmie Snape to the rescue all over. I think she's the only one who doesn't think it odd that her parents named her after someone on the rival side. At least she's not like her father. He still teaches Potions, even though his hair is starting to look like what they say Dumbledore's was, color-wise._

_I guess someone else wants a detention… stomping around like that… and what's that banging sound? Are they TRYING to get expelled?_

Her father began to thump his large fist on the door. "Bitch wake up and make me some food!!!" He demanded in his loudest drunken voice. When he finally got tired of that (and somehow seeing that it got no response), he began to mutter loudly to himself while messing with the keys on his belt until he found the right one.

_Jeez is everyone being stupid today? First the slammed door, then the stomping, then the banging, and now that incessant jangling! That's it, with all this noise I'm better off in the Common Room. First to get the book out… pass the librarian… up the stairs. Oh look my couch is open. Hmmm nice and plush. And the elves started the fire for the day, how nice. Everything feels soft and cozy and warm. Even my robes are extra fine today._

Her father finally managed to get the door open. It swung so far that it bounced off the wall, and he had to struggle to catch it. The action made him sway uncertainly on his feet before he glared into the darkness. "Why's it so dark in here? What'd you do with the window?" He had to try to focus to look out, and was somewhat surprised to see that it was now snowing so hard that he could only see white. No contours, no grass or water. Just white. "Why'd you make it snow, you bitch! Now you'll just have to go outside and shovel."

Only then did he seem to notice that she wasn't looking at him… or that she hadn't moved… or that her eyes were closed… He swore under his breath before reaching out and jerking the cot from side to side. "HEY! Wake up! I'm hungry damn it!"

Raven was jerked out of her fantasy. She looked up at her father with hooded eyes, one of them blackened from an early fray. "Yes father?" she inquired politely, her voice raspy from days of disuse, wincing as her sense were assaulted by her room – the darkness, the closeness… the smell. Oh how it smelled. Like rotten three day old cheeses. Spilled milk. Vomit… mainly because there was some in there, dried into the cot from two years ago. She couldn't find a spell that would get rid of it. In fact, she hoped to find a spell to get rid of her father before she found a spell to rid the room of that smell.

As it was, her father was unaffected by any of it. He reached out and smacked her cheek, his hand glancing past the black eye. She flinched, and he followed her to grab her shoulder hard enough to leave yet another bruise. "I'm hungry, and you didn't make no damn lunch," he growled, pushing his face into hers. "You want another punishment already? 'Cause I'll give it to you, you know I will." She resisted the urge to pull back any more and just nodded fearfully. He pulled on her shoulders, sliding her painfully down the cot towards the door until she was outside of it. Still holding on tight, he frog-marched her through the barren, dirt-strewn living room to the slightly-cleaner kitchen and unceremoniously shoved her into the island. "Make me an omelet," he snarled at her. Then, with a sick grin, he pointed to the stove. "Or we'll see how many fingers we can burn at a time." With that, he turned around and unsteadily made his way back through the doorway to the living room. Moments later she heard the TV turn on full blast, and his answering yelp at the assault on his apparently tender hearing.

With a sigh, Raven turned her mind to the well-known motions behind making her father's favorite meal. Pulling out the cutting board, she thought of the kitchen back at Hogwarts.

_The elves are so nice! Just yesterday Mina told me a recipe for something called panna-cotta. I'm not sure what the heck it is but it sounded GOOD. And a lot more challenging than a stupid omelet. I bet I could make one of those in my sleep. In fact… no, Mina would probably have to turn me down just out of duty. Headmistress McGonagall would have a hissy fit if she knew something like that would happen. Still, someday it'd be worth a try. Then I could memorize more spells while cooking. It's not like his order ever changes._

_I have to be careful though… after I asked Mina about making different omelets she got suspicious. I don't know why. It's just a silly recipe. But she seemed surprised that a thirteen-year-old could remember a full 8-ingrediant recipe. I got her to re-focus when I asked about desserts, even though it's a lost cause. He only eats one thing, over and over, and God forbid he smells chocolate. I tried to make that chocolate cake two years ago and he FLIPPED. I think I still have a scar. Not that it looks any different from the other scars. Oh well… Hey look I did it! And Mina looks proud of me, too, under all that anger and frustration. She doesn't understand my need to learn this… if I can change the recipe enough maybe someday I can slip a potion in… maybe…_

Pulling herself from her daze as a bang erupted from the TV in the next room, Raven realized that she had indeed finished making the omelet, and it was just large enough that she could take some off the edges and he wouldn't notice. She slid the rest of the omelet onto his plate and hurried out into the room, making enough noise so that she didn't startle him. She knew from experience that doing so while he was drunk resulted in one of the worse punishments.

He turned and looked at her, then at the plate. "Finally!" he exclaimed, patting his lap. She made as if to set the plate down, but he grabbed her arm, leering at her. "No," he said, his voice a little quieter now. "Sit."

She stopped breathing. Her whole body froze completely, as if someone had stuck her in the freezer then poured concrete around the block of ice. He'd only done this once before… and the result had been her worst nightmare, the one which haunted her at least twice a night… the one that made her scream so loud even a Silencing spell didn't stop her room-mates from hearing something.

The spell was broken when he shook her. "C'mon bitch, sit on my lap," he growled, his face inches from hers. She began to tremble, but managed to speak.

"I… I need to clean up… sir… please… not tonight…" Her voice trailed off in a whimper at the furious look in his eyes. Coupled with the wild look of his straggly, long, oily brown hair, it was a horrid picture.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice harsh and the smell heavy with alcohol. Still trembling, she managed to perch herself on his jean-clad knees, trying her best not to touch his 3-day-old flannel shirt. Carefully she lifted the plate until it was near the middle of his chest, doing her best to keep her arms and grip steady. If the plate moved at all, he'd break a finger. Or at least, that had been the result last time. Finally he took the fork and began to feed himself. Apparently she made it well, because he grinned in the first bite. And thankfully he was eating slowly, his attention divided between the food and the entertainment on their small television, the only other accoutrement in the room. In fact, the bulk of anything in the house lay in his room… and thankfully, she rarely had to experience any of it.

_How'd I get back in the Common Room? Oh well… I need to study again. Professor Snape is making us write another essay, or so Nymmie says. She could just be trying to get us to study more, like last time, but I'm inclined to believe her. After all, he's been in a bad mood ever since that old tattoo resurfaced. That spell was supposed to work forever… I have a bad feeling that the whole thing has to do with Old Tom supporting his son from the grave. Literally. Why do ground up bones feature in so many dark potions? I mean really, just because you went trolling around the graveyard doesn't mean that you're special. Or evil. You could just be a really stupid grave-digger. But at least this time he isn't getting tortured through it. Not even a burn. It's just –there-. Still… it's not like he needs another reason to be crotchety._

_And again, poor Longbottom. It's so obvious he takes after his dad. And Professor Snape knows it oh so well. But still, is that any reason to give him detention every night for a month? Then again, there's that rumor circulating about Professor Snape actually tutoring Longbottom. And his potions have gotten better… or at least, not so many have blown up lately. That's an improvement of sorts. … I wish someone would lower their voices though. This shouting is making it really hard to not study._

She was rudely pulled to reality at the feeling of the dish being knocked out of her hands, and her father's answering roar. "You bitch you messed up my omelet!" he snarled at the top of his lungs. She cowered, trying to move away while not leaving his lap – doing so would result in a greater punishment. As it was, she cried out as he took her finger and bent it back until he heard a breath-taking "crack". Then he looked at her face, all screwed up in her attempts to hold back tears and screams of pain, and couldn't help his reaction. "Let's go," he finally said.

She sat still, completely confused until he shoved her off his knees to the ground. She stayed steady by planting her palms while keeping her fingers up, trying her best not to cry. Then he was grabbing a few locks of her hair and pulling her. She cried out again, trying to brace herself and stop the pull. "No please," she begged as he dragged her across the dirty floor into his room. She continued to cry and beg him to stop as he laid her on his bed and ripped her clothes off. It was only as he began to pleasure himself that her dreams took over her mind. She gave herself that little peace, escaping from reality while her father raped her body, ripping at it horribly because he could sense that his goal, her mind, was somewhere he couldn't reach. Thus, he satisfied himself with what he had. Besides, it wasn't like the bitch had anyone to tell inside that cavern called a head.

_Somehow I'd made it to the dungeons… Now to remember why… maybe… There's Professor Snape! Wow… he looks confused. Then "Raven? Why are you here? It's summer… and why do you have a black eye?" Oh… oh my… he can… he sees me._


	2. Chapter 2

Warning – Some swearing/mention of rape

Becomes

_I stared at the professor for what seemed like the longest time. After a few moments, he stepped closer. "Raven Byrne, what are you doing here? Don't make me ask you again." He's definitely getting more crotchety with age. At least we know that some things don't change. Except his wardrobe. Instead of that dreary black faded cloak they say he's worn since the war, he's wearing… jeans! Black jeans of course, but jeans all the same. And a polo, in dark navy. He probably thinks it passes for black. After all, most people don't notice that sort of thing. I'm just not most people, now am I? Speaking of myself, what am I doing down here anyway? Last I remember I was in the common room, then something startled me… and I wound up here. It seems like a ways to walk without noticing. And didn't he say something about a black eye? I don't have a black eye… not yet anyway. He'll probably do that first thing when I get back home. _

_Wait… Summer! He said it's summer! Then I'm… I'm not really here… oh no… oh no oh no! What did I do? I was just trying to get out of that hideous room… and if I was distracted enough to come down here… he must be… "Oh no," I hear myself whisper, before the startled face of my wizened Potions professor begins to fade away, his mouth partly open as he tries to speak, not noticing that the color of his skin is fading to white. Everything is fading to white…_

She woke up to find her father reclining next to her on the bed. He had one hand clasped tightly around her wrist, and his eyes were closed most of the way. She stayed absolutely still, knowing he was just faking. Biding her time, she slowly took mental stock of her body. At least one finger was broken, but would only require a special splint from one of the springs in her bed. As for the area between her legs… she resisted the strong urge to wince and cry from the pain spiking through her body. It felt like he had set fire to it, deep inside, burning her walls. Considering they were both clothed in three day old fabric and the entire house hadn't been cleaned for a month, she hoped that it was the worst of it. This kind of pain she could bear. She was used to it – used to the random spikes in her system that made her yelp, or in one instance, faint. She was also used to staring at her own ceiling. Now, she found that her ceiling and his were quite the same – a sort of off-white color with random dips and bulges where the material tried to give out. The wood floor was the same too – hard, unyielding, and the perfect darkness to hide blood-stains should someone visit.

It was the stench that was different. In her room, it smelled like vomit, spilled milk, and smelly, old, rotten bleu cheese. In his room, it smelled like all those things, with a few added undertones. It almost felt like she could… smell… pain. And blood. Her blood, which had only been spilt a few times in this room, oddly enough was the heaviest here. She briefly wondered at that, before noticing the other smell – the one she only smelled during these awful times. She finally decided to equate it with what he had done. This smell was rape – his sweat, her blood, and the anger he enjoyed taking out on her. The anger he expressed with his fingers, his teeth, and once in a while through his dick; the anger she had had no part in causing, yet every part in relieving.

What was she then? A toy? She supposed that could be one word. Maybe she was a special toy – like a punching bag with a hole in it that he could use for this sort of release. Or maybe she was just a bitch, a whore, like he always called her. The second wasn't quite as possible… whore's, she had been told, were the ones who enjoyed what happened to them – the ones who wanted to eat cock or cum or be pounded against a wall. So maybe she was just a bitch. No… that was just as impossible, seeing as how she knew a few of those at school, and she was nothing like them. Then what was she? Maybe she was an unfortunate… like the homeless Ryan had been talking about. But she wasn't homeless. She was always hungry, until she went to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts… how she wished it could be her home! If only she could live there all the time, she wouldn't be worried about this at all. If the Headmistress would listen to her, just once, she wouldn't have to be wondering what she was. Not that there was a guarantee that anyone ever knew what they were. She just had a feeling that if she was safe all the time, and not hungry or trying to fix broken fingers, or using her fingers to brush out the clumps of hair lost from his constant pulling. If she had a home, she would have more time to wonder about what she was.

Or… was the question really "who"? After thinking about it, she realized that she knew what she was – a thirteen-year-old Caucasian female from Ireland. And anyway, everyone knew what they were. Everyone had that common knowledge and could even learn it about someone else. It was –who- they were, beyond the name and the face and what other people thought, that really mattered. So who was Raven?

"Who am I?" she whispered breathily, forgetting about the man attached to her. The response was a twisted wrist as he "woke up".

"You're a little bitch, that's who you are," he snarled, daring her to move and make him break her wrist, rather than just a measly finger. "You fell asleep during the fun. I didn't want to finish without you, so I waited." He gave her a nasty grin and went to mount back to his position. "Oh, and by the way," he paused to say, "if you fall asleep again I'll break your leg, then make you sweep the house." She shuddered as he began to pound into her again, biting her lip until it bled rivulets of crimson into her mouth. She swallowed it all, not wanting him to know.

Then he was finally done, falling off of her with a last groan. "Oooo, that felt good," he said, looking at her with a smile. She stared at his lips, not wanting to make eye contact. "You're such a good little bitch," he told her. "Now get to your room. I need to sleep." He rolled onto his side as she carefully stood, taking a whack at her bare ass as she tried to regain her balance. "Get going, bitch. I can't sleep with your stink in the room."

She finally made it out of the hell-hole and into her room. The door automatically locked as she shut it and fell onto her bed. Only then did she cry – silent, painful sobs that sent tears down her cheeks at an astonishing rate without making a sound. She cried as she carefully peeled off the crusty dress she'd been wearing for too long, and cried as she lay on the bare cot. Then the house creaked, and the tears stopped. She held herself completely still until the sounds went away, and then she sighed. Lying naked on her bed, she looked up towards the window. The snow hadn't stopped – she didn't think it would ever stop, or that she'd ever see the green grass again. Then she was thinking about the grass at Hogwarts. Specifically, the grass in the Forbidden forest, right beside the pond where she had first seen real wildlife. There was flora and fauna in abundance there. It had been her favorite day.

_How did I get out here? Not that I don't love being at the pond, but this is just… I mean wandering around inside the school, where it's easy enough to sleepwalk, that's one thing. But coming all the way out here? Totally different subject. Still…_

_I remember the first day I came here. Nymmie wanted to show me what it was like in the woods, and she said this was the closest thing. Even though we were only lowly firsties, she somehow got us past all the ghosts and portraits during lunch. With an hour to spare, we raced across grass that looked green the further we went, past creaky old trees, and a couple huge spider webs, to arrive here. My first pond. I knew it was a pond because I had read about them before. The way they were small, land-encased bodies of water, usually fresh-water too. I wondered how pure this water was, and Nymmie told me that unicorns had been spotted bathing here. "So of course it's perfectly safe," she had told me._

_Right at that moment, my absolute favorite memory was made – a fat, humongous frog jumped out of the water and landed on her boot, then jumped almost impossibly high to land on her outstretched hand, put there moments earlier as she tried to get me to go closer. Oh how she shrieked! I don't think I had ever laughed so hard. As she finally got herself to quiet down, I snuck closer and looked down into the water. But before I looked through it, before I saw the wildlife and the way the algae moved and formed, I saw… me. And not the brightly-lit, well-kept mirror image of me. The real me- five feet away, with ripples constantly changing the form. That was me… fluctuating, moving, and never being the same two seconds in a row. While I knew this all pertained mainly to my emotions, I could say the same about my physical form. Many of my bruises that couldn't be hidden very well were healing rapidly with a minute spell. The rest of them were healing slowly, and passing the healing on further as I learned it was okay to eat real meals. The people here weren't opposed to me eating – in fact, Nymmie often asked me why I put so little on my plate, and added something more when she could. It was sweet, and it helped._

_It took me a while to realize that her shrieks had died down. I was too caught up in the green-ness of everything – the leaves on the trees, the grass peeking through the dead foliage on the ground. Even the pond was green in places, where the algae had grown too dense. I finally looked up to see her standing next to me, watching my face. I dropped my gaze immediately, examining the frayed hem of my sleeve. She stepped closer and raised a hand towards my face. "Raven… what's on your eye?" she asked carefully. I held unbelievably still, trying not to shake, expecting her to wipe off the make-up hiding the last of my black eye. And she was about to, when her father's voice cut through the silence. "Nymphadora Snape, what are you doing out here?!" his incredulous voice demanded to know. Then he saw me. "And Ms. Raven Byrnes, is it? I wonder who brought who out here," he inquired, his eyes trying to bore into mine – a difficult task, since I had been taught since childhood not to meet anyone's gaze. Still, I could feel his glare drilling holes in my skull. Any second now, he was going to smack me, maybe even make me lay down. While I knew he wouldn't do that in front of his daughter… or I hoped._

_Before he could do more than insinuate it was my fault, said daughter stepped up. "I did Daddy. I told Ravvie that this was a pretty place, and she'd never seen a pond before. I told her about the tortoise too, but we can't find it." She gave her father her best grown-up look, and he finally sighed._

"_You know first years aren't allowed in the forest?" he questioned, watching us both now. I nodded solemnly, catching Nymmie's identical head-bob through the corner of my eye. "Then you know I have to take points off." While Nymmie gasped, I felt an internal sigh of relief. Just some points taken off. No physical punishment. Hopefully everything would be that way._

_The three of us finally began to head back to the castle – the Professor and Nymmie in front and me trailing behind. I took one last glance around and vowed to come back. I managed it at least twice a year so far. Once to say hello, and once to wish it farewell, and to hear the trees wish me good luck._

_Back off memory lane, I smirked. That frog really had been huge. But now it was… what quarter was it? Was it time for summer already? I looked around at the trees, noticing that they seemed a little darker, and the foliage a little greener. If I wasn't mistaken, it already was summer. In that case, I decided I was back in the Common Room, having nodded off and dreaming about memories. No reason to hurry back. Why not lay back and relax? Look at that cloud. So pretty._

_Then I hear it. Branches cracking in the woods. Just one or two, before the noise stops. A few minutes later, I hear it again. This time it's closer, and I can almost guarantee that it's human. Someone is in here, coming closer by the moment, and I'm dreaming it? I sigh and pinch myself to wake up. Nothing. I sit up and try again. Nothing. Biting my lip, I press in on the bruise on my knee. I gasp, but nothing happens. How is this possible?_

_I hear the sounds again, along with an undertone of fabric brushing against plants. No time to wonder how anything's possible. I'm here, where I ought not to be, and I don't know how. I carefully stand and back away from the noises, moving slowly and watching my steps. I avoid the leaves and the branches, staying on the mud. Then a frog jumps next to me and just stares at me. I inhale deeply, then remember to stay quiet. Carefully I try to move around, but my attempt fails. Instead, I fall in the mud and roll closer to the water. "One last try," I whisper quietly to myself. Slowly I take some water and splash it on my face and the back of my neck. Nothing. In fact, the noises are closer, like they're right outside the glade. I get up and start running in the direction I –think- I'll find the school. Behind me, I hear a shout and the other person starts running too._

_I run for a bit before realizing that each breath feels like a jackknife in my side. For good reason, too. There's a huge bruise in the shape of my father's hand dominating my rib-cage. I sigh, understanding that he's probably broken a bone this time, before feeling a presence. Moments later, a voice speaks from behind me._

"_Raven Byrnes? What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?" Professor Snape's voice demands from behind me. "How did you get on school grounds in the midst of summer holidays? And running around by the pond? I expected better of you."_

_I slowly turn and look at his shirt, wishing I could take my hand down without being obvious. "I don't know how I got here sir," I say quietly, trying not to shake. "In fact I thought I was dreaming, sir, until I heard your approach."_

"_My approach?" he questions, confused. "But I barely made a sound. And how would that convince you that you weren't dreaming?"_

_I glance up slightly, and his eyes sharpen. "That black eye. You had that earlier, but you weren't holding your side. Pray tell what's happened in the past hour to make you hold your side as if it'll fall off if you stopped?" His voice is curious, but still… cold. Calculating. He is treating me like a specimen in a lab. I hate that feeling. I wish this was too a dream. I wish I could just blink and wake up. Even being at home in my room is better than him looking at me like he wants to dissect me. In fact…_

Raven gasped softly as her eyes flew open. Automatically her hands went to her side, and she winced. The bruise was there, and her eye was still blackened. "It wasn't a dream?" she whispered, staring at the ceiling as the snow fell outside, blanketing the world in sound-softening white.


	3. Chapter 3

Last Chance

A/N: I realized too late that I kept alternating summer in the "dream" and winter in the "reality". Just pretend that it's summer all around, since I don't feel like having the Byrnes move hemispheres right now.

Raven had only a little time to figure this out. Her father was at the door after an hour, demanding his dinner. She carefully got up, tottered on unsteady feet for a few seconds, and was knocked to the side by a brutal shove. Luckily she hit the doorjamb, and stayed standing. "Hurry up bitch!" he yelled, his face so close that spit visibly landed on her face. He gave a sadistic half-smile before shoving her again. She got the message and started walking into the kitchen.

She sighed when she saw the mess he had made getting lunch earlier. Dishes were stacked in the sink - she'd have to take them back out to fill it with water, and there was no space beside it, which meant carrying them to the other counter. Which was filthy as well, she noticed, and would need to be wiped down with a wet cloth. This led her to thinking about wiping the stove, which reminded her that she needed to start cooking.

She pulled out a large skillet, then stopped. He was standing behind her, waiting for something. She took a small breath, then spoke.

"What would you like to eat, Master?" her voice never wavered - she was becoming quite skilled at hiding her emotions through her vocal chords.

He seemed upset that she wasn't frightened, but quickly made up for it. "Bacon cheeseburger," he grunted. She shuddered. Bacon had a tendency to spit and smoke. Because they only had a short pair of tongs and he wouldn't let her turn on the fan, it was torture all over her body, inside and out, and he knew it.

The burger itself could be handled. Until, of course, he said "And make it in the same pan." Now she flinched. The bacon created a large amount of grease. Add the burger grease to it, it was even worse. Then add her dropping the hamburger into it every time she flipped it, and it was splatter heaven. Hard to clean up, hard to avoid.

Still, she nodded. She knew he would inflict something ten times worse on her if she didn't comply. So she pulled out the frozen bacon and the slightly thawed burger and set them gingerly in the pan. "May I clean the kitchen as it cooks, Master?" she requested politely.

He grunted and ambled out into the living room, thankfully leaving her be. She immediately darted to the sink and pulled out the dish-cloth. Carefully she wiped down her hands and face, knowing sooner or later he would have her bent over the stove, watching as the moisture drained away. She had found that preparing herself beforehand helped more than just going normally. Then she turned and gently wiped down the granite counter on the kitchen island. That done, she flipped the burger and bacon, then transported the dishes from one counter to the other. Finally she was able to start the water running, put in some soap, and stack the dishes to the soaked. By that time she could hear him start to get agitated. Quickly she splashed some water on her face and started the dishes as he came out.

"GIRL!" he shouted. She flinched, dropping a dish into the water and causing a small splash. He growled and wordlessly grabbed her by her hair, hauled her over to the stove, and shoved her down so her face was almost a foot from the spitting pan. She gasped in pain as some of the hot grease spit onto her face, and she could -feel- his smile. She bit her lip and kept her eyes shut tight, feeling the water on her skin slowly evaporate. Then his hips began to shift, and she flinched. Downward.

The pan of hot grease tipped until some of it spilled onto her, the burger sliding out and landing on her bare foot while the bacon tumbled onto her leg, then down to sit on top of the burger. The grease itself seared her skin through the meager fabric of her dress, causing her to scream like she hadn't in a while.

Unfortunately, some of the grease also hit her father. Though it was a minute amount, he shouted and jerked her backwards, smacking her head against his chest. "You bloody bitch! How dare you!" and he threw her against the island in such a way that her already bruised (possibly broken) side hit the edge. This time, she kept her mouth shut as her face twisted in a grimace as her eyes focused on his torso. It was because of this focus that she missed the sick grin he suddenly sported.

Without warning, he stomped on the burger, mashing it into the dirty floor, crumbling the bacon. She watched, her stomach turned as she saw the mix of pink and brown meat. She knew, somehow, what he had in mind. And those fears were confirmed as he grabbed the front of her shirt (pulling at her skin at the same time, since the grease had practically scorched it into her) and thrusted her toward it. "Eat it, bitch," he said.

She whimpered, already aching all over and not wanting to add food sickness to it. He growled and shoved her harder. Before she knew it, he had put her face directly into the food, burning her skin for a moment before letting go and sitting back to watch. Cautiously she began to eat, picking up morsels and hoping to drag it out. He would get bored and go away, she just knew he would. But he didn't. He threw a spoon to her, and got comfy in the only chair - his chair. So she was forced to eat it all, even the soggy, limp bacon. She gagged a few times, and already could tell that she was going to be sick later, but he just smiled that sadistic smile.

Once she had finished it, she blacked out. Her energy had run out, and her wounds were taking their toll. But he merely dragged her by her hair into her room, hauling her up by her dress until she was on the bed. What he didn't know was that she was trying, actually trying, what had happened on accident earlier. She was trying to send her spirit away, to send it all the way to Hogwarts. She was going to die soon if she didn't. Though she didn't know it at first, those dreams had become her last chance.

A/N: Dun dun dun! Tempted to start writing the next chappie now, but I need to think more about it. Honestly this entire chapter came out of nowhere. I wonder where the next one will come from?


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